


The Hunt

by anniespinkhouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Short Story, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sam and Dean are at Uncle Bobby’s. Wee!Sam (does eleven qualify as wee?) has to save Dean from some nasty critters but Dean doesn’t believe the creatures exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. This is awkward. There’s no sex, violence, smut, incest, blood, body parts or bodily fluids but there is a big squick and I can’t say what it is because just writing the word is, well, squicky and I can guarantee that 90% of readers will be affected by it but only short term and it isn’t a trigger. It is safe, you will recover. I hope. Really though don’t blame me, you’ve been warned. I had to write the damn thing and I’ll get over it. Unbetaed. Questionable attempt at humor. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Sam and Dean don’t exist and even if they did they wouldn’t belong to me, also none of this happened. This makes me very sad.

Sam hefts his rucksack onto his back and checks the security camera one more time. The store assistant is distracted and the angle he is standing at will hide his activity. He stashes the loot under his coat and doesn’t hurry to leave. Finally, he picks up an inexpensive roll of cough drops and goes to the counter to pay. He gives an innocent smile, all dimples and soft features, before casually leaving the store with his booty.

It’s not like he wouldn’t pay if he could but this stuff is expensive and the store is not allowed to sell it to minors. He doesn’t feel guilty. Sam needs the items to help Dean and that makes what he is doing  _necessary_.

Sam noticed the signs a few days ago but he hadn’t thought about it until a pattern emerged with young victims throughout Sioux Falls. This is all Sam’s fault and Sam is going to hunt these creatures and get rid of every single one. At eleven years old he is perfectly capable of the task. Sam thinks the biggest problem will be convincing Dean that he needs help and making sure that nobody suspects, especially Bobby who might tell dad and he knows where that will end.  John Winchester will steam roll over Dean’s feelings and dent his pride, demanding an effective but crude solution to the problem. Sam sees no reason for sharp steel blades to play any part in this banishment, but his dad won’t agree.

The youngest Winchester runs his hands through his hair. It’s thick and long and it’s tangling in his fingers and he likes it that way. If dad was here he’d have trimmed it weeks before, but John Winchester went on a hunt over six weeks ago, leaving his sons in the care of Uncle Bobby. Sam misses his dad and for a time, when Bobby first informed them that their dad had been badly hurt on the hunt, his stomach had knotted into painful cramps with worry he couldn’t express. For a few nights he’d found himself curling under the covers of Dean’s bed, absorbing his big brother’s comforting warmth, like he had when they were young, or sometimes still does when their dad fails to account for Dean’s age and insists on taking a room with only two beds. Dean had scooted over, laid a protective hand on his back and they had both slept. In the mornings not a word was said about it. Some things don’t need to be discussed.

Now, though, their dad is mending in an outback cabin and has regular phone contact with his sons. He will be back in just a few more weeks and their life will take to the road again with the familiar roar of a Chevrolet engine, shiny leather seats and the beat of classic rock.

Sam thinks it’s a pity. Sioux Falls School has become a constant in their lives. Dean is thriving with Bobby’s attention and without all the stupid and harsh Marines training nonsense that John Winchester puts them through. His brother has the attentions of various pretty and, if he’s honest, rather slutty, girls and even if Sam doesn’t want to hear the sordid and sticky details he loves to see Dean’s wicked smile as he narrates them. Dean’s hair has grown too. It lies flat and is silky, with bangs that accentuate his green eyes as he looks up from under them. The girls adore it and can’t keep their fingers, tipped with shiny bright nail-polish, from petting it.

Sam waits until he hears Bobby go out for the evening. He lays out everything that they’ll need, in careful order, on the table in their bedroom. He traces his fingers over fine toothed metal, soft cloth and bottles of foul smelling liquid. He reads his research again, to be sure, and runs through the instructions in his head. These creatures are hard to detect and even harder to kill and if even a single one survives the hunt, a whole new generation can be spawned. They are disgusting, blood sucking monsters. Sam gives an involuntary shudder and scratches at his neck.

***

“NO!” Dean is adamant, just as Sam knew he would be. “Sam, these things only go after small kids.”

Sam whines a little and rustles the papers he’s printed from the internet. “That’s not true Dean. I’ve researched it and that’s a myth. They can affect anybody. All it takes is personal contact. Please Dean. This way’s not so bad. We can do it together.”

“Sammy you’re being, eugh,” Dean has to think about the insult, “You’re being all girly and paranoid.” His hands thread through his hair unconsciously.

“It’s not girly to care,” Sam pouts “and I’m not being paranoid. You’ll know if you think about it, all the signs are there. I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault but we can’t just ignore it.”

“I can ignore it because it’s not true. You go ahead with all of your mumbo jumbo if you want but count me out. I have a date with Kirsty, Kristy, Kathleen, whatever her name is and she doesn’t even wear a promise ring. There is no way I can explain that …. _stuff_  to her.” Dean strips his battered old T Shirt off, to replace it with something black and a bit more  _James Dean_  for the evening.

“Why are you putting something clean on Dean? It’ll just get ruined by the ointment.” He rolls out his best bitchface.

“Because there’s nothing wrong with me and I’m not doing it. It’s stupid.” Dean rolls his eyes and wiggles his head as he silently mimics Sam nagging him.

“I can prove it to you!” Sam nods his head in self confidence. “And you know what dad will do if he finds out.”

Dean looms over Sammy with a frown “Dad’s not going to find out because there’s nothing to know. Right, Squirt?!” He sprays some Brut and shrugs his leather jacket on. His hands linger in his hair, smoothing the bangs.  
  
“See! Please, Dean.” Sam opens his eyes, wide and pleading and so, so, anxious and Dean can never resist that look. He huffs and takes his jacket back off.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you hunt, if it’ll get you off my back, but I  _am_   _not_  going through that vile process. I have a date,” he reiterates.

“Thanks Dean.” Sam smiles, full of dimples and relief. “Look, I got you a chair.”

Dean sits on the hard backed kitchen chair, his shoulders tense and he holds his head stiffly.

“Here.” Sam wraps a towel around his brother’s shoulders and grabs the note, printed on white paper, that the school nurse had given to him. In the other hand he carefully grasps a small rectangle of jagged metal. “Stay still.” he says in his best reassuring voice.

Sam runs the comb slowly through Dean’s hair, tutting as he reaches a knot and Dean winces.  
  
“Baby!” Sam scoffs.  
  
As the comb reaches the ends of Dean’s hair to scrape against the stiff paper a small black creature scuttles off the comb and Sam scrunches the page quickly to retain the evidence. He reaches carefully around until it is in front of Dean’s face and avoids being triumphant in his statement. “See!”

“Oh, no! Ew! Oh! That’s disgusting Sammy. Headlice.  Ugh. How?”

“According to the school nurse some of the nursery kids had them and Craig, who I do the science project with got them from his little sister and then the other week when we ...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it Sammy.  Get them off me! Just kill them now.” He’s waving his hands in front of him, in horror.

“So you’re gonna do this?”

“Yes, yes. Oh, wait! You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“I read all the instructions Dean. It’s easy. It’s a bit smelly though.”

Dean is scratching at his arms and fidgeting. “Just get them away Sam.”

“What about whatsername?”

“Ack. She’s got a rash of zits this week. I bet she was going to tell me she’s on the rag anyway.”

“Oh! Ew, Dean. I’m only eleven.”

Dean chuckles and scratches his head.

Sam poises the comb and hands Dean a damp wash cloth. He uncaps the ointment. “It will be cold. Cover your eyes, it’ll sting if it gets into them but you mustn’t rub them.”

“Okay mum.” Dean retorts but it’s an affectionate tone.

Sam stands behind his brother. He takes his time. With his nose wrinkled from the stench and tongue between his teeth he concentrates and works silently. He separates sections of hair and carefully applies the fluid then combs slowly and meticulously through, coating each strand. He stops for every tangle and delicately eases it out, wiping the comb regularly on a piece of rag. The process is slow and methodical and it has an easy rhythm to it. Sam feels Dean relax into his hands and uses his fingers to gently massage his scalp. There may be a high pitched Hmm ing sigh that emits from Dean but Dean is never going to admit to it.

When Sam is finished he places his hands on Dean’s shoulders and speaks normally.  “There, it has to be left on for an hour and then we can rinse it out and check again.”

 Dean startles from his dreamy state and yawns, “Huh, yeah.” Of course he  _hasn’t_  been lulled into near sleep by the soothing action and Sam isn’t going to call him on it but the youngest Winchester does allow himself a brief smirk.

“You want me to do you while I wait, Squirt?”

“Yeah, thanks Dean.”

Dean returns the favor, every bit as thorough as Sam and when they run the fine comb through their hair, after rinsing, not a trace of the nasty little critters remains. It’s been a successful hunt.

Dean calls Sam a ‘Nancy’ when he uses an old pink hairdryer to style his shiny clean hair but then he grabs it from him and does the same with his own. He ruffles his fingers through his little brother’s flyaway locks and over the stuttering loud whoosh of hot air, Sam hears Dean say “Thanks, Sammy.”

The next day Sam and Dean are completing their homework on the sofa while Uncle Bobby reads dusty old manuscripts. Bobby’s hand reaches to his head and scratches. A few minutes later it happens again.  After several repeats of the same behavior Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s green gaze and they grimace at each other. Sam recalls how Dean and Uncle Bobby put their heads together when they’re looking under the hoods of Bobby’s wrecked cars. Sam whispers, “You tell him,” and Dean mouths “No, you.”

They face each other, one hand flat, the other in a fist, one, two, three.

Dean opts for scissors and loses.

~END~  
  
*ahem* I found the best way to stop all that nasty psychosomatic itching that I just induced is to go and read some wonderful absorbing fanfic. See. Would I do this without providing a cure?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ - http://anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/ in February 2012


End file.
